


just a few more minutes.

by patheticfallacies



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Character Death, F/M, Heavy Angst, There's like no happiness in this, it's just sadness all around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:35:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22439623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patheticfallacies/pseuds/patheticfallacies
Summary: she makes one last call.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves/Original Female Character(s), Diego Hargreeves/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 76





	just a few more minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a short thing done that's really just all angst. i was feelin' it and wrote this, and here we are.

THE STREETS WERE MOSTLY EMPTY, save for a few stragglers here and there. But those who were out, were rushing about on their way home, eager to avoid the creepy gloom of the night and get into the warm indoors. They avoided eye contact and kept themselves closed off, just looking for their final destination where they would be safe.

It seemed like there was only one person who did not share that mindset, that night. Her speed was almost the opposite of the others. It was leisurely and slow, an air of calm about her despite the very pronounced limp the woman walked with. Still, despite the limitation, she walked with ease and confidence and did not even bother to bat an eyelash in anyone’s direction. She was formidable.

Or, so it appeared. Inside, the woman’s brain felt like it was on fire. Nay, actually?

She was ninety-five percent sure it was actually on fucking fire, just like the rest of her body.

“Holy shit,” she hissed to herself. Biting back a groan at every movement, she limped forward, begging for just a little more strength to get her there. But her leg just dragged painfully on the pavement, twisted awkwardly as though it was not made for her body. The work of pulling herself with only half the strength she normally had was taxing, a trial she almost doubted she could pass.

But finally, she had managed to limp her way to the payphone booth - which at least was empty. Maybe the universe did not hate her too, too much.

The woman slammed the glass door shut behind her and let her weight crash against it, only to barely remain standing. With a shaking hand, she found a bloody quarter within her jean pocket and jammed it into the machine, punching at the numbers with the same trembling ferocity. Everything was done fast and hard, forcing herself to move despite the flood of torment in her thigh, trying to drag her down. She knew her strength was running out, and fast - but she would be damned if she went down easily.

Every ring was torture, taunting her - like it already knew she was too screwed, and found it absolutely hilarious. The phone rang and rang, only to never be picked up. The woman groaned, slamming her bloody fist against the booth over and over, the only reaction she allowed herself to have. Not that that did much with her lack of strength; all that was left was a smear of red stained against the glass.

She swore under her shallow breath and searched her pockets once more. She found her last quarter and shoved it in the slot, once more typing out the gym’s number. As the laughing phone tone began, singing her dying fate out into the tiny glass booth, she bit back her screams, ripping at her broken fingernails in an attempt to hold back her reactions to the pain. If she actually had to die in that goddamn phone booth, alone and bleeding out from such a stupid wound? Oh, Diego would -

“-’Ey, what do you want?” rasped from the other end. Not the voice she had been expecting - this person was harsh and cold, with a thick accent to boot. “We’re closed.”

“Is Diego uh, Hargreeves there?”

“We’re closed, lady.”

She sighed, gritting her teeth as a new wave of pain shot through her body. “Yeah. Got that loud and clear the first time, but trust me, I’m not here to sign up for a fucking membership. I need Diego.”

The man on the other end sounded suspicious, unsure just what his employer could be up to that time. Which, to be sure, he might have a right to be worried, considering just who Diego was. If she was not bleeding to death alone in a phone booth, she might even have sympathy.

But she was, and she did not. 

“What for?”

“I just need him.”

“-listen, lady-”

“-my water just broke,” she sobbed, half in theatrics and half because the pain really was a bitch. She grimaced at the lie choice, but oh well; not like she was really up to being more creative. Her wound seemed to be inhibiting her ability to think of intelligent excuses for-

“-excuse me?!”

Right. Right, that. “M-my water just broke,” she repeated, attempting to sound more upset about it. “And, and I’m scared, and I just - I can’t have my baby born without its daddy there, right? I mean, what kind of mother would I be if I raise our baby boy without him? Yes we’ve not gotten along but he’s his dad, he needs that fatherly support and dammit, I need him here, too! He can’t just escape this-”

-just as she was sure her long winded spiel was reaching an unfortunate end, the man on the phone cut her off. “I’m going to get him, okay? I’m going.”

“Thank you so much, I-” she stopped once she knew he had actually left, knowing there was no point in talking to silence. She adjusted her position, sliding further down the glass with a whimper. It was getting worse, and the quiet was not helping. Honestly, dying in a tiny clear box with no one around to help her or even watch her bite the dust was not how she was planning this to go. Frankly, it felt a little embarrassing.

Her leg threatened to buckle, and she had to brace herself to remain standing. A lone tear dripped down; it gleamed silver in the artificial light. It was getting worse by the second. Time, for her, was running out very quickly.

“Who the hell is this?”

She brushed away a stray tear and straightened her back, a relieved smile licking her lips. “Diego? That you?”

“Y/N?” He asked back, incredulous. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I had to get a hold of you.”

“And telling my boss that you were going into labour, with my kid? Jesus, I work for him, you know?”

Despite the pain, Y/N grinned even wider. Maybe she was just entering that stage of doom where everything was more sentimental than it really was, but for some reason his grumpiness kind of just -

“Hello? Y/N?!”

She adjusted herself once more, only to silently wince as more pain shot through her frame. “Shit - uh, well, I needed a way to talk to you.”

“And that was the best shot?”

Ironic word choice. Unfortunately without intention.

“I needed to talk to you, dude - and it’s not like I can tell that guy I got shot, yeah? That’d be a little weird.”

For a moment in time, it was silent on the other end, leaving Y/N unsure what had happened or if he had left. Just as she was about to give up, however, he spoke.

“You got shot?”

She hissed, half in pain and half in guilty realisation - that was not the way she had meant to tell him. Shit. “Look, I-”

“-what happened? Where are you? Holy shit, are you okay?!”

“Long story. And I’m, I’m in a phone booth right now, admiring the city lights. It’s really pretty out here, you-” pause; hiss; the pain was eating her alive. “-know?”

Diego ignored her joke. “Where are you, Y/N?” There was a tightness to his voice, a concern that rarely arose between them. If it was not such a shitty situation, maybe she might let herself think more into it than she should. 

“I’m…” she hesitated, lifting her gaze to search around her. Her head spun - what did it say if she was already feeling light-headed? Probably nothing good. “I’m on the corner of Gladstone. Probably near Griddy’s, I think…”

“Shit. Shit! Okay.” He paused, seemingly thinking, before speaking again. “I’m coming. Don’t move, okay? It’ll just b-b-be a few minutes.”

She laughed dryly. “Don’t worry, I don’t think I can.”

He cursed again, under his breath. “How bad is it?”

“Um…” She was far from an expert on bullet wounds, but it certainly looked bad. And judging from all the other symptoms going on, the sense of imminent doom and what not? Well, she doubted her life had much left to it. 

But she could not bring herself to admit that to him. And so, she smiled, even while knowing he could not see her, and just shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m okay right now. I did the pressure thing you taught me? So I should be fine. It’s a leg wound, so like, I’m livin’ peachy.”

That was a brutal lie. But she could not worry him more. 

“I’m on my way. I promise. Stay there, stay safe. Remember pressure, and, uh - j-just stay there, okay?”

“Okay,” she mumbled, grimacing through the dizziness. “I’m…I’m sorry, Diego.”

“What? No. Y-y-you’re fine. I’m coming, stay there.”

“I’m sorry…I…” the words lingered on her tongue, sweet and sad, a whispered promise she just wanted to share. But she swallowed them back instead of letting them slip out. “Okay. I’ll be here.”

He hung up without a goodbye, just another order to stay put and wait just a few more minutes.

She half smiled at that. If only he knew, ‘a few more minutes’ might be enough time for the gods to write up her death sentence.

Once she knew he was gone, she let go of the phone and just let herself fall to the ground. She huffed and hissed through the pain, pressing into the wound and letting her fingers turn even redder. Her eyes fell to it, tracing the shape over and over again until it was ingrained in her mind.

She knew very little about gunshots, but at least she knew enough to know it was not looking good for her. The shot was bad and looked pretty deep, and the fact that it was still bleeding so much was not great either. She did not know how much blood a body could stand to lose but it probably was not a lot more than what was already shed. And, weren’t there important arteries in the thigh? She cursed. Oh, why oh why couldn’t she remember what Diego had told her before?

Her head fell back against the glass. A tear slipped down, followed by another, creating twin silver streams that glittered in the light. She could not even get up, probably could not even stand if she wanted to. Truly, it was a pathetic sight. Dying alone in a phone booth as the few pedestrians ignored her failing breaths? She had always pictured a better death than this. 

Sure, considering how many stupid things she did in a day death was always around the corner, but it was not like she was considering that a whole lot. She thought she might just live forever - or long enough to have a better life. A better job, more friends, a family she could call her own. But she was dying fucking alone with none of that to her name. With the only person in her life she truly cared for on his way to find her dead body. And she did not even have the chance to mumble some cute last words or anything. Her last words would be ‘I’ll be here’.

“Bullshit,” she mumbled, the sound deafening in the silence. “Bull…shit!” Her fists weakly pounded against the glass, pressing bloody shapes into the booth. Without much strength, they made little noise.

Maybe this was what she deserved. Was this the doing of the fates up above? Deciding she had done enough, that they had to hit her with enough karma to kill her good and dead? She had no clue. But it certainly felt like that.

She let her eyelids slip down, coating her in darkness once more. It was too hard to hold them up, too heavy - and she was getting too tired to fight anymore. A part of her knew that staying awake was probably the only option she had for survival, just then, but her exhaustion was quickly winning against her resolve. She was just so tired…

At least she would go out knowing she had done a good thing, she mused. All she could hope was that the girl rescued was safe, hopefully at home with a good family, a loving partner maybe? Asleep at that point, not thinking about the one who had taken the bullet meant for her heart. She got another chance at life. Maybe that was what mattered in the end.

The woman sucked in another breath, finding it harder and harder to fill her lungs. She huddled closer to the glass, pressing her shivering figure against it. Gone was the confidence, the wise-cracking and calm exterior; she had been reduced to a small, trembling figure seeking a second breath from fates who refused to give it to her. Nothing more than a number, another nobody dead when no one cared.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, coughing through the words. Her mouth filled with a strange taste, metallic and thick. She had to spit it out, and when her eyes opened just for a moment, she could barely see the blood dribbling from her mouth to her paling fingers. The woman sobbed, shaking as the cries rocked her fragile body. Tears dripped along with blood from her lips and stained her face, mixing to be a gruesome sight. A sorrowful one.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried, choking through every syllable. “Dammit…I’m so sorry…” 

No one heard her, but maybe she did not even care. Or maybe she did not know that, and truly thought he was right there listening to her pitiful cries. Like he could hear her apologies, her admittance of love, her begging for life in that tiny glass box. Like maybe she still had some hope.

Her hand fell limp and her head did too, lolled against the cold glass. Her eyes remained open just for a moment, staring blankly forward without seeing much at all before she had to let the lids close. Her body stopped shaking, and her breathing grew quieter. The tears stopped falling, though their silvery remnants remained etched into her skin. She was silent, with her last words to no one hanging over her head - an apology, and a sad, small confession of love to the man who she would never see again.

It only took ten more minutes for Diego to show up. But it would be too late. She was a fallen figure, pressed against the glass box, unmoving. No amount of begging, of shaking, of pounding against the phone booth and screaming at the universe for doing this to him, would make a difference. He did all he could, pressing against her heart to force it to beat, pressing breaths against her bloody lips and begging them to take the air into her body - but in the end, his hands were covered in her blood and despair hung deep on his face.

Diego ran his hand down his face, ignoring the red staining his weathered fingers, and sobbed. His attempts were useless. Nothing could be done.

She was already gone.


End file.
